


Promptober 2018 - Day 8

by Ethanamide



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post TFP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 13:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16265375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethanamide/pseuds/Ethanamide
Summary: Post-TFP, a reconciliation at 3 am





	Promptober 2018 - Day 8

8\. “I know you do.”

He had to see her as soon as feasibly possible. After they’d finished with the police, got hold of Mycroft, and dropped John off, Sherlock asked the driver to take him to Molly’s. He needed to chase the visions of her dead on her kitchen floor from his mind, she could throw him out after, but he would not rest until he knew for certain she was physically unharmed. He was out of the door before the car had fully come to a stop, fighting to stop himself running to her front door, and pounding on it with his shaking, splinter-ridden fist. Willing himself to stay upright, he rang the bell, and when there was no immediate response he knocked as gently as he could three times. It felt like a lifetime, but she eventually opened the door, and he barrelled inside before she realised who it was. He placed his hands on her shoulders, hoping he wasn’t shaking as violently as he felt, and feeling the last of his patience snap, pulled her into a crushing embrace. It was over nearly as soon as it had begun, however, and he swept through the hallway into the kitchen, where he started systematically searching for the cameras he knew were hidden there. 

Molly appeared a few seconds later, dazed from the shock of both being woken up at such a late hour, and the unanticipated bone crushing hug. 

“Sherlock, it’s 3 in the morning. What are you doing?” She asked, yawning widely

He turned to face her, stopping his frantic crashing around her kitchen, and slipping the cameras into his pocket. Like a child caught red-handed, his gaze immediately flew to the floor as if it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. She sighed, ready to tear him apart for his earlier antics, when a sudden bought of nausea overcame her, and she hurried in the direction of the toilet. Sherlock, however, was so wrapped up in how he was going to explain everything that he didn’t notice she’d gone until the sounds of vomiting echoed through the flat. He frowned slightly, dumped his coat on the back of the sofa and made his way over to the bathroom.

She was sat on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest, breathing heavily. He watched her for a moment, before heading back towards the kitchen, soon returning with a small glass of water, and a gingernut biscuit. He perched on the side of the bath as she sipped from the water, and nibbled at the biscuit like some sort of squirrel. Once her stomach had settled, she washed her face, and brushed her teeth, unnerved by Sherlock’s silent watchfulness. He followed her back into the kitchen, still saying nothing as she put the glass in the dishwasher. He began to follow her back towards her bedroom, causing her temper to fray. It was late, she was tired, and not in the mood to be followed around her home by a lost puppy. 

He read the flare in her temper from the tensing of her shoulders, and made the snap decision to try and explain himself. Unfortunately, it came out as mostly individual words that made little sense, babbled, and disjointed. Molly fought the urge to roll her eyes, nonsensical babbling ruled out drugs, at least. He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated that for all his intellect, he couldn’t string together enough of the right words to stop her hating him. The desperation, coupled with the stresses of his sister’s games at Sherrinford pushed him into overdrive. The words stopped, the shaking increased, his heart racing far faster than he’d like it to be.There was too much in his head, too much to say, too many variables from her possible reactions, it was all too much. 

A hand on his arm brought him back to reality, he could hear his name from what seemed like far away, until he realised it was just Molly standing in front of him. 

“I’m sorry.” He said hoarsely, “That wasn’t how-”

“I know,” She cut in, a tired smile on her face

“I do love you, both of you” He said forcefully

“I know you do,” She replied simply, yawning again. “Can we have the rest of this conversation in the morning?”

Sherlock yawned in sympathy and nodded, taking her hand and following her through to the bedroom.


End file.
